Every morning at exactly seven am, Joonmyun's alarm clock goes off. At seven oh-five he gets out of bed. At seven thirty-eight he's showered, shaved and ready to get dressed, Armani suit hung on his closet where he put it the night before. At seven fifty-two he sits at the marble counter of his breakfast bar, reading the daily news over a cup of coffee and a nutritious meal. At eight seventeen he gets ready to leave the apartment, aiming to get to work at eight fifty-five to grab another cup of coffee before the day begins at nine. Every morning is just like this. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Except one day Joonmyun finds himself toeing on his shoes in the hallway at eight oh-two, fifteen minutes before his regularly scheduled time. Once he realizes the he's early, he pauses, furrowing his brow. He's not quite sure where he went wrong. Maybe he got out of bed before time, maybe he spent a little less time in the shower, maybe he drank his coffee a little faster than usual. The fact of the matter is that his morning ritual has been messed up and now he has another dozen minutes to kill. He finishes putting on his shoes, grabs his jacket from the coat rack and leaves.

The sun is shining bright in the sky with no clouds obstructing its rays. Joonmyun takes the subway to work, riding in a cart filled with students in uniforms and businessmen in suits like himself. He's abruptly reminded that he's going to be spending the next eight or so hours sitting by a desk and he frowns at the thought. It's a shame to waste such a beautiful day on that. He then recalls that he has some time to spare and his frown turns into a smile. Rather than getting off at his usual stop, he exits on the stop before that. He may as well put those extra few minutes to good use.

There's a park close to the building Joonmyun works in, he can usually see it from his office when he glances out the big windows. Slowly he walks down the main path, taking in his surroundings; the trees and the flowers and the chirping birds. There are a few elderly ladies out for their morning exercise, and Joonmyun smiles at a young mother pushing a child in a stroller. He's actually happy that he failed to follow his morning routine today because this is nice. If he tunes out the sound of cars in the background he can almost pretend that he's not in the middle of a bustling city and that he doesn't have to be at work in ten minutes.

And then he hears it. At first he doesn't really think anything of it because it's so faint, but as he gets closer the volume increases and that is definitely the sound of a guitar. A voice soon joins in, soft and smooth and sending shivers skittering down Joonmyun's spine with the way it coils around the words, and for a moment he has to stop and remember to breathe.

Sitting on a bench in the middle of the park is a guy. He looks like he's around Joonmyun's age, maybe a bit younger, and he looks pretty much just like any other guy walking the streets of Seoul. There's nothing spectacular about him. His hair is dyed brown, his skin is fair, his clothes are casual and soft-looking. His face is nice, though, as are the fingers plucking at the strings of the guitar perched on his lap. And even though his voice isn't exactly extraordinary either, it's still enough to make Joonmyun stop to watch him play for a while. He keeps his distance, though. It's almost as if the guitarist is enveloped in some kind of bubble, and Joonmyun is afraid to burst it.

Before long, the guy is moving on to the last lines of the lyrics, some old song about finding love in unexpected places that is only vaguely familiar to Joonmyun, and he plays the final few chords and lets the notes trail off into silence. Then he raises his head and looks right at Joonmyun, and he offers him a sweet smile, cheek denting with a dimple.

Joonmyun comes back to reality with a jolt. He takes in a sharp breath, returns the guy's smile a bit timidly. A glance at the watch wrapped around his wrist tells him that he's going to have to hurry now and no matter how much he wants to stay and watch this guy play and sing some more or maybe even find some excuse to talk to him, he really has to get going.

He lifts his hand as if to wave goodbye, but regrets it halfway into the gesture. Instead he rubs the back of his head, flustered. The guy on the bench seems amused, leaning his chin on the arm that's resting on top of the guitar now. He keeps looking at Joonmyun with twinkling eyes, keeps smiling that dimpled smile. Joonmyun slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks to keep from embarrassing himself any further and after taking another deep breath he walks along.

For the first time ever Kim Joonmyun is late for work.

On the way back home Joonmyun cuts through the park again. As predicted he has been sitting by his desk nearly all day with only short breaks here and there to relief him, so now there's this need in his body for him to move, to stretch his legs. That's what he tries to convince himself, at least. Still, he can't stop a brief burst of disappointment from welling up in his chest when he passes by that same bench and the guitar guy isn't there anymore.

It's not that Joonmyun is making a conscious effort to be ready before time now. He's really not. But the next day he finds himself leaving his apartment before it's even eight. He takes the same subway line, gets off at the same stop, walks through the same park. And there his is, the guy with the guitar. Today he's wearing a dark hoodie, a black T-shirt, black jeans and chunky sneakers. The hood is pulled up and his bangs peak out from under it, falling messily across his forehead. Joonmyun wishes he could look as good in casual clothes as this guy does.

It doesn't take long for Joonmyun to realize that the song the guy is playing isn't in Korean this time around, but it does take a while for him to recognize it as Chinese. Even though he knows a little Mandarin from the college class he took years ago, he doesn't know nearly enough to actually understand the lyrics. He still appreciates the music, though. And that voice.

A girl, hardly more than three or four years old, walks up to the guy when the song is almost over, and she seems very interested in his guitar. The guy is all smiles and once the song is finished he happily shows off the instrument while the girl's mother looks on with a smile of her own. He even lets the girl tug on the strings and chuckles at the expression of wide-eyed wonder on her face.

The sound of his laughter carries over to Joonmyun, who's standing a few dozen feet away. Something in his chest aches. Like the day before, the guy raises his head to look at Joonmyun, eyes curved up with mirth. Joonmyun clenches his jaw, clenches his fists and walks away.

Later when Joonmyun thinks it over, he finds it ridiculous that he's actually jealous of a little girl. He just wishes he had the courage to walk up and talk to the guy like that as well.

Every day for the next few weeks Joonmyun is out the door before eight, and he goes to see the guy play. It's not that Joonmyun does it on purpose, it just kind of happens on its own. At first it does, anyway, but soon walking through the park becomes an integrated part of his new routine. Sometimes he even buys his breakfast from the small coffee shop right by the subway exit and he sits on a bench across from the guy and eats his food and drinks his coffee and listens to his songs. By now Joonmyun really wishes he had something else to call him other than the dumb nickname he has created for him in his head, 'Dimples', but he doesn't know his real name.

Exactly sixteen work days go by before Joonmyun mans up. With a crispy ten-thousand won bill held tightly in his hand he walks up to Dimples, who has just finished another song and is now playing quiet chords with no vocals. In Joonmyun's experience, most street performers have some sort of jar or hat or guitar case or something nearby for people to put money in. This guy, however, doesn't, which is why Joonmyun just kind of hovers in front of him until he eventually resorts to clearing his throat. “Uhm, here.”

Finally Dimples raises his head, looks up at Joonmyun, then at the money in his outstretched hand, then back at Joonmyun again. “What's that?” His expression is completely impassive.

“Money,” Joonmyun says as if it isn't obvious. It should be obvious. “I've... I've been watching you play for some time now so I figured that I'd just...” He trails off, shrugs. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Hmm.” Dimples doesn't stop playing. “Thanks. But I don't play for tips.”

“Oh.” Joonmyun drops his hand down by his side, and then, after a moment of hesitation, he stuffs the money into his pocket. “I, uhm, well... you're... you're really good, you know. I really enjoy you. Uh, I mean, uh...” Dimples' sudden laughter cuts off his flustered stammering, and Joonmyun chuckles as well, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Thanks,” Dimples says again. His hand stills on the fretboard. “There is one way you can repay me, though.” He leans forward a little. Joonmyun consequently leans back. His heart is racing and his throat feels parched and Dimples is peering up at him with twinkling eyes. “Smile.”

Joonmyun's breath leaves him with a squeak. “Smile?”

“Smile,” Dimples repeats, nodding, and his lips stretch out wide as if he's demonstrating (it's really pretty up close). Hesitantly Joonmyun bares his teeth in an uneasy grimace he kind of hopes will pass for a smile. Dimples stares at his mouth for an excruciating amount of time and Joonmyun is sure his own pulse will make him go deaf with how loud it's hammering in his ears. Then Dimples sits back and he nods once more. “Hmm. That'll do, I guess.” His fingers start plucking at the strings again. “But I like your real smiles a lot better.”

“I... thanks?” Joonmyun doesn't mean for it to come out as a question. He's just still having trouble believing that he's actually having a conversation with Dimples and... and he just gave him a compliment, didn't he? Joonmyun can feel his flush all the way into the roots of his hair.

Dimples shakes his head. There's still a small smile on his lips. “Go to work, Mr. Businessman,” he says in a teasing tone. His comment makes Joonmyun look at his wristwatch and subsequently realize that he's really, really late.

He runs all the way to work. His boss doesn't scold him when he arrives, just sends him a look laced with worry. Kim Joonmyun is usually never late for anything and this is the second time it has happened in a fairly short amount of time. Joonmyun makes a mental note telling himself to get his act together and he pins it at the very front of his mind to make sure not to get distracted again.

~*~

A/N: today is yixing's birthday so here it is, finally, chapter one. the story starts off nice and slow. nothing much happened in this chapter so I don't really have much to say about it either. yixing's described outfit is supposed to look something like this:

because it looks really ing good ugh just shoot me.

okay. that's all for now. I hope you enjoy this.
bye~